Demon Lord of the Empire
by Panzer4life
Summary: War is cruel; it changes people, and not always for the better. Adolf Gregor, son to Count Clemmens Gregor, Lord of Tula of the Empire, was no different. Watch from his humble beginnings to becoming known to the enemies as 'The Demon Lord of the Empire'. Starts shortly before EW1, continues up to VC2. Rated M for violence, language, and future chapters
1. Chapter: Prologue

**Author's Note: First off, let me begin with the obligatory disclosure; I don't own Valkyria Chronicles or any of its characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and not for profit.**

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><p><strong>Prologue: A legend is born<strong>

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><p><em>June 24<em>_th__, 1908, Muscovy, Autocratic East Europan Imperial Alliance_

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><p>A 25 year old man was walking down the hallways of a hospital in the capital of the Imperial Empire. He was wearing his officer's uniform, mostly black with gold trimmings, and he had his peak cap under his arm. He wore glasses due to his rather poor eyesight, which thankfully wasn't hindered further by his blonde hair, which he swept back to keep it out of his face.<p>

As he proceeded down the hallway, he wondered what in the name of the empire he was called away from his post. As Colonel of the Empire, he was currently commander of the Emperor's Royal Guard, tasked with defending the Emperor with his own life if need be. However, when he was told to head to the Muscovy hospital and that he would be relieved for a few hours, the Colonel was shocked. There was no duty higher than defending the Emperor!

Cursing at the notion that his attention was needed elsewhere, he approached room 205, and he saw his brother, two years his junior and a Count, talking with their father, the General of the Volga Military District.

His brother, a blonde hair and normal built man with no distinguishing features, was the Count of the Volga Province of the Empire, and was in his own right a powerful man. He was the backer of one of the Empire's largest arms manufacturers, Tula Armaments. His father meanwhile was a formidable General that earned his stars during the offensive in the Southern skirmishes against the nation of Kabul. With his practices of scorch Earth and siege warfare, his father earned the nickname 'General of Famine'.

The Colonel knew that there were only a couple of reasons that his father would be in the capital, and none was to be taken lightly. He took a breath, bracing himself for whatever was to come. He approached his father and brother.

"Colonel Gregor reporting in sir," Col. Gregor said, snapping to attention and saluting his father. His father shook his head while his brother laughed.

"Berthold, must you always be so serious?" his brother, Clemens, asked. Berthold Gregor's eyebrows furrowed as he pushed his glasses up.

"Lord Gregor, you must take your position as a nobleman more seriously," Berthold reprimanded his younger brother. "The Gregor family didn't become powerful and respected both in and out of the military by being light hearted."

"Be that as it may Berthold, there isn't a need for such seriousness at this moment," his father stated. "This is a time for rejoicing, as your brother has become a father."

Berthold regarded this information, frowning. He knew that his brother was married to a rather gorgeous woman. They had been married for about three years, and Berthold knew this was a possibility. While as the eldest child of the Gregor family, Berthold held no desires for a family of his own, as in his eyes the Empire was his family. If he fell in the field of battle, expanding the influence of the Empire, then so be it.

"That so?" Berthold asked rhetorically. "Then I offer my congratulations for a successful birth of your child brother." Clemens, smiling at his brother's ideas of sincerity, nodded. A sad fact was that even in the Empire, infant mortality was an issue.

"Thank you Berthold," Clemens said. "However, I suggest we check up on my wife and son." While Berthold wanted to leave, he knew that both as family and a nobleman that refusing such a request was rude beyond all hell. He followed after his father and brother into the hospital room, where he saw his brother's wife, Evelyn if he recalled, laying on the hospital bed, holding onto the newly born son.

"How are you two doing?" Clemens asked calmly, taking a seat next to his wife. She smiled.

"I'm fine, and our son has been quietly sleeping," Evelyn replied. "However, have you decided on a name yet?" Berthold raised an eyebrow in surprise. Usually, his brother and his wife had everything planned down to the most minute of details, and yet they hadn't come up with a name yet?

"Not a lot of names would pair well with the family name and still give an air of power," Clemens admitted. "You and I hate commoner names, and the more 'respectable' names don't flow with 'Gregor'."

Berthold sighed as he watched as the married couple debate between various names, his patience waning. He never understood the importance of naming a child with some 'meaning'. How a person is name and how they turn out are more often than not radically different. He saw his father smirking as he peered out across the Muscovy River. Berthold finally decided to interject his opinion on the topic.

"How about Adolf?" Berthold suggested. "The name is short, direct, and powerful. Remarkably it isn't a commoner's name, given its meaning." He saw the couple mull over the name, before Clemens nodded.

"Yes, Adolf Gregor, a fitting name for our son," Clemens stated. "Your insight is much appreciated Berthold." Berthold nodded, glad that the conversation was over. He watched for a few minutes as the couple talk quietly while their son slept in his blanket bundle, before he saw his father motioning him to meet outside the room. Berthold walked quietly outside the room, shortly followed behind by his father.

"Colonel Gregor," his father, Major General Gregor, began. "The birth of your nephew isn't the only reason you were called out." Berthold nodded.

"I suspected as much," Berthold admitted. "There is very few reasons that the commanding General of a military district would leave his post, and family isn't one of them." His father smirked; glad that his eldest was as intelligent as he was.

"Indeed," his father agreed. "The reason I was called to the capital was on orders from the Emperor." He waited a moment to allow Berthold to take in this information. "He has plans to expand our Western Border before the end of the next decade."

Berthold felt a shiver run down his spine. Expanding West meant attacking the Federation and most likely several of the neutral nations, such as Principality of Gallia and the kingdom of Fhirald. It would be a massive war; if the battles the Empire had with the numerical inferior Kabul had shown. Those skirmishes took over a year to end, and the Federation had nearly as many men as the Empire.

Berthold mused on the prospect of a war with the Federation. If the Empire was to have a chance, they would need heavy weapons. The battles with Kabul showed that the emerging automatic weapons mixed with trenches and barb wire created a veritable killing field for the defenders. The colonel knew that many generals were asking for more mortars, but he personally thought that the empire needed bigger guns, ones capable of not only clearing but also destroying the trenches.

"Such a war is going to be a bloody affair," Col. Gregor began, giving his assessment. "The Federation has the economy and men to take losses, while the Empire has the military experience and discipline to make the most of that experience. If we are to make any gains, the Empire will need to strike hard and strike fast, as to prevent the Federation and other nations from digging in."

"That is the common consensus," Gen. Gregor stated. "I came to see your brother to see if Tula could produce such a heavy weapon to breach the inevitable trenches we will encounter. In addition, several Generals from the participating military districts will be attending quarterly meeting with the Emperor to draw up battle plans."

"That is a logic course of action," Col. Gregor stated. "I assume the Emperor has intelligence on the enemy's military and politics from his network of spies to aid in the creation of the battle plan?"

While not commonly known outside the Empire, the Emperor had a dedicated corp to the task of infiltrating countries that the Empire has an interest in. The corp is tasked during 'peacetime' with gathering intelligence such as the political leanings of the country, location of army groups, the level of technology used by the military, and their economy. However, when the Empire strikes, this corp becomes the silent knife, with assassinations against military and political leaders, sabotage of vital infrastructure, and bribing or outright aiding in the defection to the Empire.

"That would be correct," Gen. Gregor replied. "And the news isn't good to start. The Federation, while splinters in terms of politics, are at least able to maintain a level of stability that the corp states they couldn't effectively undermine at the present. Also, the economy of the Federation is being fueled by the overseas holdings of several Federal states, which means a war of attrition won't come easily. And finally, the Federation is currently getting more men into the army and building bunkers along our borders."

The young Colonel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose at the distaste he had for this information. If the Federation was already fortifying the borders with bunkers, than the war will become a long and dragged out affair, with mounting losses inevitable. If the empire wasn't careful, then the invasion could turn into a collapse, with the Empire losing land rather than gaining.

"I hope brother is able to get the Tula armaments rolling out more and bigger guns," the colonel admitted. "A fight against a prepared, competent, and dug in foe such as the Federation will strain our armies to their limits. What are the current goals for the invasion?"

"The Emperor wants to gain control of Gallia and Fhirald due to the ragnite deposits that lie in those countries," the general said. "The corp states that both nations are happily deluded at the moment, thinking that the Empire's aims are aimed as central Asia."

"Thank god for that," Col. Gregor said. "It should hopefully make the fighting in those country easier, as they will be scrambling to defend their provinces, instead of reinforcing a formidable barrier."

"That are my thoughts exactly." His father paused, seemingly lost in a moment's thought. "But Berthold, we must discuss something related with the family."

"And what would that be?" Berthold asked, still being formal despite noting that the conversation wasn't as serious. His father pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping his monocle.

"As you know, when you were inducted formally into the military after completing the naval academy, you also forfeited your right to be Count to your brother," His father began.

Berthold remembered the day clearly; his brother was shocked when Berthold told him that he was joining the army. In doing so, Berthold had given up his title of Count to his younger brother, who while also a Count but one of lesser importance, increasing Clemens's influence practically overnight. But it was expected of anyone in the Gregor family; should the eldest son join the military and if there is another to take his title, the eldest forfeited his title to pursue a career in the military.

The reason was simple; politics. While there were many Counts in the military (often holding officer ranks well above what they should), this came at a huge risk. If for instance the Count/General die in battle, than the title of Count would go to the next in prominence. Normally, it would go to the next heir of the family, but if the family ended up losing favor with the Emperor, then the title of Count could go to another family. Thus the Gregor family always had multiple children, so the titles would always have a head to rest upon, and they took the precaution of forcing the current count to hand the title of Count to the next in line when they join the military to prevent a loss of prestige.

"Yes, what of it?" Berthold asked. "Nothing is out of the ordinary if I recall." His father sighed.

"Yes, nothing would be out of the ordinary if there wasn't a chance of conscription," his father stated. Berthold felt his skin crawl at the mention of conscription, knowing exactly where this was going now. "The Empire is sadly in need of officers, what with the fighting to subdue Kabul costing the lives of many officers, and at the moment your brother could be conscripted to become an officer if the officers corp isn't at its maximum by the start of the war with the Federation."

"I-" Berthold started, cleaning his glasses quickly, trying to calculate the likelihood of his brother becoming an officer in a massive land war with the Federation. "He isn't ready for that responsibility; he is an industrialist, not a war officer. His service to the empire is better served getting guns to the front than sending men to the slaughter."

"I know this," his father grumbled. "But the case is the same regardless; the empire is in need of officers, and the Emperor will be forced to call on the nobility to fill that gap, which is why we need to discuss what the family is going to do." Berthold saw his father pull out a paper with his father's precise handwriting on it.

"First, the issue of getting your brother ready for the reality of command must be made," His father began, listing off the issues at hand. "And the second is to determine where the title of Count falls to should your brother fall in battle."

Berthold was silent; the first issue at hand he could probably deal with easily. After all, he was a prodigy when he graduated the Naval Academy top of his class and became a Captain at 19, and became a Colonel just this year. But the other issue, well, he had no aspirations to become a Count and get caught up in the political machination of the Empire (his loyalty was always to the Emperor). Clearing his voice, he voiced his solution to the first problem.

"As the Head of Guard of the Emperor, I have time to perhaps instruct and guide my brother in the duties of an officer to the Empire," he stated calmly. "Of course, he would need to be in Muscovy for me to fulfill both my duty and teach him how to become a capable commander, but that shouldn't be difficult for him."

"I agree," his father said. "However, I think however I could instruct him more thoroughly than you could, as I am the head of the Military District of Volga, and I can meet him when I am off hours to teach him the finer aspects of command." Berthold nodded at this; it was logical, as his brother still had the duties of a Count to take care of.

"As for the others though," his father continued. "I already discussed the second with him; the title of Count should be deferred to you until Adolf is of age to adopt the title and fulfill its duties. And before you argue, the only other person it would logically go to is his wife, who between Clemens, yourself, and I, we all would agree she isn't fit to be a Countess."

Berthold merely nodded at this. Evelyn, despite her beauty and sophistication, was rather lacking in the area of being able to maintain a province as large or as important as Volga. She would get hung up on minor things and lose the larger picture, thus hurting the family's prestige, despite having the best of intentions. And his father was too old to be able to hold both Count and his position as Major General at his age of 50.

"Very well," Berthold said. "I will accept the responsibility of Count should my brother pass in the coming war." His father nodded.

"Good," he stated calmly. "Now then, let us get back inside, and try to ease our minds on the trying times ahead of the Gregor family." The colonel saw his father walk back into room 205, leaving him to wonder if he should really be worried about the future. The war wasn't for another few years, the Empire had the best military, and the Gregor line has survived famines, political upheavals, the Great Fire of Volga, and countless wars. So why did he have the sense of forlorn? Shaking himself, he reentered the room, and began planning in depth with his brother and father about the coming war.

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><p>A few hours after his brother Berthold and his father Ulysses left, Clemens was quietly talking with his wife Evelyn. It was now tense, as his wife had to listen to his family discuss the very real possibility of him having to go off to war in the future.<p>

"But the Federation's power comes from their colonial holdings on the other colonies," Evelyn was saying, trying to figure out why the Emperor wanted to wage war with the Federation. "So even if we take over the core countries, we won't have the resources that fuel the Federation while losing god knows how many men in the process."

Clemens sighed at his wife's slightly naïve outlook. She grew up in one of the northern provinces of the Empire, far from war and politics, and thus had a sheltered outlook on the runnings of the Empire.

"Look, Ev, just because there aren't resources to be had doesn't mean that such a war would be useless," Clemens calmly began to argue. "The Federation has now been spreading propaganda portraying the Empire as war mongering tyrants to those surrounding our borders. If the Federation doesn't fall, then the Empire is very likely to collapse from the combined might of all of our neighbors."

Clemens could see the slightly frustrated look in his wife's face. He didn't like it, but the Empire's survival rested on making the Federation and its ideals look weak. If people elsewhere get the notion that the Empire can be beaten, then they will try to move upon the Empire like vultures over a carcass. Thus was why whenever anyone threatened the Empire the Empire struck and hard. One does not become powerful by words and ideas Clemens knew; they became powerful with cold steel and an iron will to rule.

"Even so, I don't want to lose you in a war for reasons I don't fathom," Evelyn stated. "I need you, and so will Adolf." Clemens nodded wearily, and he gazed upon his son. His son, as healthy as one could be, opened his eyes to look upon his father. Clemens looked into those deep red eyes, and he smirked. Perhaps Berthold was right in his suggestion for Adolf, as his son had the eyes of a wolf hunting down weak prey.

"I know," Clemens said. "I will not die easily Eveyln, you have nothing to fear."

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Alright, perhaps not the best start to the story, but hey, the stage needed to be set up for the story to begin. Now a few things that I am sure you are curious about;<strong>

**1: Berthold Gregor being a Colonel at his young age: Typically, no one under the age of 40 is made a colonel in the modern army, but there are three things working in Berthold's favor. First, he is a part of the aristocracy, and as I mentioned, they get benefits 'proper' to their station. Second, he was in a Naval Academy since he was 15 and he joined the army after graduating, giving him roughly 10 years of military experience, 4 in the academy and 6 in the army as an officer proper. And finally, he becomes a commanding general in EW1 during the fighting against Fhirald, and his rank in EW2 was Major General, so at the very least he was a colonel before the promotion in EW1.**

**2: Clemens and his wife being in the story: Err, I needed a way for my OC Adolf to be in the story, and really, does it look like Berthold would have kids of his own? Anyway, thank the aristocracy again as they provided me the wonderful excuse for Clemens; the rule of two. Typically, many aristocratic families would follow a rule of siring at least two eligible heirs in the event of one dying due to unforeseen consequences. So it would make sense if the Gregors followed this rule as well.**

**3: Adolf (his appearance and name): This will be covered more in later chapters, but Adolf will have albinism, which as many of you know can result in red eyes. Will it result in vision problems for him; perhaps, I don't know at the moment (and don't know how serious a problem it is for an albino), but he will suffer the issue of being sensitive to exposure to the sun, able to being sunburned rather easily.**

**His name meanwhile was an issue. Gregor isn't a nice last name to work with. After a while, I chose upon Adolf, the name being derived from the compound name Athalwolf (or Adalwolf depending on the translation) which can mean 'noble wolf'. This will become a fitting name for Adolf later on, but for now it won't be apparently obvious.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this prologue and as always, please follow, favorite, and review!**


	2. Chapter 1: The Calm before the Storm

**Chapter 1: The Calm before the Storm**

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><p><em>June 20<em>_th__, 1913, Volga, Autocratic East Europan Imperial Alliance_

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><p>"Adolf, get down from your father's car!"<p>

A young boy with blonde hair with white tips and pale skin turned around. He saw his mother yelling at him from the window that was his bedroom, clearing annoyed at his antics. He however was enjoying himself.

"Sorry mama!" he yelled back, getting off his father's DA Wasp. It was a small car that was designed by his father's company to provide a cheap and reliable car for the masses, with the funds going into some major project his father was working on for the Empire. Adolf was examining the Ragnite combustion engine, admiring the straight forward design while trying to figure out how everything went together.

"Evelyn, let the boy explore!" he heard his father from the house. "I rather he learn something than be cooped up in his room all day like he was last month." Adolf frowned, not liking anything about last month. He knew that since he was born, his mother and father had great expectations for him, what with him bound to become the next Count in the Gregor line, but there were a few things that made him different from what he thought would be ideal for the next Count in a powerful Empire.

The first was his partial albinism. At first, it was just his eyes, with them being a deep red instead of the family's light blue eyes. But over time, his skin became the ghostly pale they were now, and his hair was only affected at the tips, something he was thankful for. Due to his albinism, he often was kept indoors to prevent serious sun burns, or wear clothing ill-suited for the hot summers of the Volga Province.

The next issue was his physical capabilities. Sure, he could run as far as the next boy, but if he was tasked with anything else, he struggled. He didn't have the arm strength to carry heavy loads; he also lacked a strong grip to pull things that were heavy. And on top of that, whenever he got into a play fight, he couldn't strike with any force. That said, he could take a beating and carry on with his day like nothing happened.

Finally, there was the issue of his interest in all things mechanical. While this wasn't really a problem with his family (his father after all was now running the Tula Armaments, producing civilian goods such as the DA Wasp to raise funds to making military supplies such as shells, artillery pieces, and armored cars), it caused him to be standoffish with others. He didn't really have any friends since most hated his analytical nature, always looking for the reason behind people's actions.

Adolf sighed as he walked into the house, as even though his father didn't mind him exploring the car, it was getting close to noon, and soon the heat of the day would get to him. Last thing he wanted was a repeat of last month, where due to him not wearing sun block and falling asleep on the pier the family had along the river, he ended up having third degree burns all over his arms, legs, and back. He couldn't sleep for the first two weeks because it was painful to lay on his back and sides, and there were still scars from the experience.

"Adolf dear," his mother began. "Your uncle and grandfather are coming over for your birthday today." Adolf smiled; he enjoyed spending time with his grandfather and uncle.

"Okay mom," he said. "Then I better clean my room up!" his mother smiled.

"Yes, wouldn't want your uncle scolding you over how your bed was improperly made," his mother joked. Adolf kept smiling, knowing his uncle was very strict in his regiment. His uncle was truly a military man, he kept his uniform in order, he always walked tall and straight, and he always addressed people as they were meant to be addressed. That said, Adolf liked his uncle, as unlike his father, his uncle would challenge him in a game of chess.

Adolf smiled at the thought of chess. Unlike most of the boys he watched from his bedroom window that went past his house without a second notice, Adolf preferred to work his mind over his body. As such, even though he was only 4 (going to turn 5 in four days' time), he enjoyed playing chess. When his uncle introduced him to the game six months ago, Adolf sucked badly at it. However, whenever his uncle or grandfather was around to play a game, he got better and better at it.

He walked upstairs and through the first door on the right to his bedroom. It was a modest affair; a bed in the corner away from the window, his desk in the opposite corner where he kept his sketches of various mechanical things (things like bikes and cars), and finally a series of shelves where he kept his collection of model cars, trains, and boats.

He spent an hour fixing his room up, from making his bed the military way, to dusting off his shelves. He didn't care if it was weird for a soon to be 5 year old boy to find cleaning his room calming; it was something he could control, and it kept him busy. He wondered how his uncle and grandfather were going to be like when they came over.

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><p>"We're almost there Col. Gregor, it will be about five more minutes should traffic be clear," announced Berthold's driver, a Corporal by the name of Samuels McClain. Berthold nodded.<p>

"Very good Cpl. McClain," Berthold acknowledge, resting his eyes on the mighty Volga River. He remembered growing up when the city of Volga was mostly a hub to get to Muscovy, but when the Industrial Revolution began, it all changed. The river front, once mostly docked with piers for fisherman to fish from, became the source of power as industries used the river as a source of power. The city began to build up, smoke stacks billowing with white smoke as the factories powered on, and soon Volga became a major city.

He wasn't annoyed like some people were that Volga became so big, or that the jobs in the factories were harsh and cruel, he saw it as evidence of the Empire's power. If the Empire was capable of such a growth of industry, then it proved that the Empire was growing stronger. He could only imagine that when the war with the Federation came, the Empire would be well equipped and be the one striking the hammer on the anvil, with the Federation and its allies in between.

He thought about the war, and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration. All those years ago, when the Emperor made his intentions clear and his father informed him of it, Berthold had been relentless in his preparations. He was reassigned to the Volga military district on his father's orders, and he began drilling the men, doing maneuvers and mock battles in preparation for the real thing.

He had great confidence in his men's ability to fight; there was no question of that. The men were well-trained, disciplined, and many had seen service under his father in the skirmishes in Kabul. When he ordered them to attack a fortified position, they were like the knights of old, charging across the field in order, firing their weapons and clearing the positions in a few hours.

That said Berthold had his doubts that the war against the Federation would be so easy. The corp that the Emperor had gathering intelligence came back with more and more worrying news. It appeared the Fhirald and Gallia were being persuaded to side with the Federation in the event of war, and thus they had begun increasing their military readiness. In addition, the Federation was continually rotating their men from the colonies back to the homeland, which meant the Empire wouldn't be fighting green soldiers but rather veterans from the Federation's colonial holdings.

"We're here sir," Cpl. McClain announced, parking the car in front of the door of the family estate. Berthold grabbed his file and his peak cap, and with the corporal opening the door to his staff car, stepped out. As he was walking up the steps, he saw his brother approach him.

"Berthold, it's been awhile since you last came," Clemens greeted politely. Berthold sighed; his younger brother still wasn't as formal as he should've been.

"Count Clemens Gregor, when will you finally be as you should?" Berthold asked. "But yes, it has been a while. Has father arrived yet?" Clemens shook his head.

"No, he has to finish a report to the Emperor about the readiness of the Tula military district," Clemens explained. "I thankfully finished my report about the capabilities of Tula to pump out both ordnance and vehicles for the war yesterday."

"Good news I hope?" Berthold really hoped that Tula was capable of the job that lay ahead.

"I concluded that should the enemy not find some way to get to the factories and sabotage them and that there isn't a supply shortage in metal or ragnite, the Tula factories will be able to meet the Empire's war time need. The factories will be able to produce 150 armored cars, about 200 light howitzers, 50 of the siege guns, and make thousands of rifles, pistols, and machine guns, within a month's period mind you."

"That is impressive," Berthold acknowledge. The two began to walk into the sitting room, which had a large bay window that overlooked the Volga. "However, what about Zechmeister, Krimm, Uranus, and Zabot; aren't they competing for most of the military contracts?"

Berthold saw his brother grimace; apparently it wasn't good news for Tula.

"Yes they are," Clemens said, pouring a glass of bourbon for himself and Berthold. He handed Berthold his glass as he took a seat and continued to explain. "Zechmeister claim they are better suited to handling the small arms industry, Krimm sadly have the facility to build more and even bigger cannons than Tula. Uranus and Zabot are thankfully small, but they seem to have leached onto Krimm, probably some back room deal to cut Tula's influence."

Berthold was silently glad he wasn't responsible for Tula as Clemens was. He had neither the patience nor the back room cunning that his brother had. But even he could see that Clemens was in a pinch.

"Is there anything Tula can specialize in?" Berthold asked after taking a sip of the bourbon. "Because it seems Krimm and Zeichmeister are cornering two large areas of the arms industry."

"They are, however I do have a plan," Clemens stated. He walked over to a desk that was in the corner of the sitting room and grabbed a rolled up paper. After he was seated, he rolled out the paper and showed what was on the paper to Berthold.

Berthold saw instantly that it was a new vehicle. Instead of a car being outfitted with thick armor plates and mounting a machine gun, this appeared to be a tractor with a longer hull, thicker armor plating that was bolted on, and a couple of turrets mounting both cannons and machine guns. Overall, the design was simple, but Berthold could see the purpose of this vehicle quite clearly; it was a vehicle to break through the static defenses the Federation was bound to have.

"This is the Mk.1 armored combat vehicle, which we have hidden it under the project name 'tank'," Clemens announced. "Armed with a 45mm/L37 cannon and two turrets with 7.92mm machine guns, the tank is going to replace our cavalry with something more suited for the modern battlefield."

"It is powered by a ragnite combustion engine with an output of 130 horsepower, and weighing only 24 tons, giving the tank moderate acceleration and a top speed of 15 km/h. Its armor is 35mm thick all around, so it is impervious to all small arms currently fielded. Finally, it has been foreshadowed that Tula, if given the green light, can produce around 100 of the tanks a month at current factory conditions," Clemens finished explaining, sounding quite proud of the design.

Berthold could see the potential of this new 'tank'. It could approach trenches that infantry couldn't and clear them out, and with their level of mobility, they could exploit any breakthroughs made. However, he also could see several problems with the new tank.

First was that it would require training a new branch of soldiers to operate this vehicle. Training takes time and money, thus increasing the overall cost of the tank. Second was that he could see those that object to the design pointing to the dangers of howitzers and guns. The tank may be armored against small arms, but if the Federation thought to level their guns and fire upon the tanks, then they be right back in square one, with now tank carcasses smoldering on the battlefield.

"I like the design," Berthold said quietly. "However, I wonder how the general staff will perceive this vehicle." Clemens sighed, taking a drink of his bourbon.

"I know it's risky," Clemens admitted. "However, it we can't produce these vehicles, then Tula and quite possibly the title of Count may very well slip from my hands."

Berthold was about to scold his brother for such talk, but he saw Evelyn walk in with Adolf. Berthold wondered for a moment if the wife of his brother knew when to bail her husband out. But then he focused on Adolf, he had gotten a little taller since they last met. He now stood 120 cm now, and he was wearing a simple white button up shirt and black slacks.

"Hello uncle," Adolf said with a smile, while saluting his uncle. Berthold smirked and saluted back. He was glad that his nephew was respectful of his position in the military, and showed more or less the same level of respect a new private would to his commander.

"Hello Adolf, and how is my young nephew doing?" Berthold asked. Adolf shrugged.

"Not too bad, I was examining father's car an hour ago before I went to fix my room up," Adolf said quietly. "So uncle, how is your unit doing?"

"Not bad, all things considered," Berthold asked. "But I doubt your mother or your father want me to bore you with the talks about the military." His nephew nodded, and he pulled up a chess board.

"Want to play a game then?" Adolf asked. Berthold nodded; it wasn't often he got to play chess, what with his duties and finding anyone suitable to play against.

"Sure thing," Berthold said. He saw Clemens and his wife smile at Adolf, glad that their child was doing something innocent. Berthold and Adolf set the board, and began playing multiple games of chess, with Berthold surprised by the subtle changes in Adolf's styles through the games. It began with aggressive tactics that slowly changed to more deliberate and supporting actions. Berthold sighed; soon, days like these would give way to more frantic and pressing days. But for now, he would enjoy the chess matches.

* * *

><p><em>June 24<em>_th__, 1913, Volga, Autocratic East Europan Imperial Alliance_

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><p>"Is Adolf asleep?" asked the stern voice of General Ulysses Gregor. He was tired, but not due to his grandson's birthday. His grandson Adolf was at least a quiet child that preferred a small family party as opposed to the parties that several aristocratic families would throw for a birthday. As a result, instead of a circus show with screaming children running all over the place and creating chaos, the day was mostly spent discussing (in Adolf's mind) the glorious campaigns his grandfather participated in and numerous chess games, followed by a quiet dinner and cake before the young man went to sleep.<p>

"Yes Gen. Gregor," replied Captain Clemens Gregor. His position in the military was thanks to careful manipulation behind the scenes by his father, who after training Clemens with Berthold's assistance, was able to secure him a position as a captain of a minor unit that would be assisting Major General Erich Clausewitz's advance.

"Very well, then we can begin this meeting in earnest," Gen. Gregor stated. "The date of the start of the war has been finalized; the Empire's invasion of the Atlantic Federation, the Principality of Gallia, and the Kingdom of Fhirald on March 14th of the next year."

"That only leaves two months to finish our preparations," Col. Berthold Gregor stated. "Do we know which generals are leading the offensives and where their operational zones are?"

"Indeed we do," Ulysses Gregor confirmed, rolling out a map of the Europan continent. He began pointing in order of the various fronts the chain of command. "Focusing on the Kingdom of Fhirald will be I, II, and V Corps, led by myself and Generals Krieg and Sturm, with me taking operational command of the entire front. Focusing on the Federation will be the IV, VI, VIII, IX, and X led by Generals Mikhailovich, Romanov, Alexander, Rurikovich and finally the Emperor himself, with the Emperor leading the entire front against the Federation. Finally, the III and VII Corps will focus on Gallia, with Generals Clausewitz and Hindenburg at the helms, with Clausewitz taking the lead. The Emperor however expects Gallia to fall before winter, but given that winter will have just ended means you have effectively eight months before winter starts, so that isn't a major deal."

Berthold was silently glad that his command was a detachment in the II Corp, under General Krieg. While Fhirald was a proud Kingdom with a proud and determined army, it wasn't as well armed or supplied as the Federation. While he didn't expect an easy fight, it would be better than the slaughter that would occur along the Federation front.

He glanced at his brother, who seemed a bit fazed at being sent to fight in Gallia. Berthold doubted the long standing neutral nation would prove a threat to the Empire's army. Gallia was a small nation, the army was split between the militias that made up the bulk of Gallia's forces and the national army, led by aristocrats who were more like glorified politicians than actual commanders. If Gallia was to survive, it would only be due in part of the large ragnite deposits in the north and terrible calls as made by the generals in charge of Imperial forces, which he doubted.

"So then I suppose the next issue at hand would be determining how we begin our assault," Berthold commented. "I suppose the Federation front will consist of a single massive infantry push, supported by artillery, with the aims of capturing as many cities as possible."

"That is currently the plan," Ulysses said, sighing irritably. "Regardless of the course of action, the fighting in the Federation is going to be brutal and slow. Therefore, the early stages of the fighting will be focused on advancing our lines as far as we can before the Federation and Fhirald dig in. Then, when the fighting in those two fronts become the inevitable slugging matches, we will bring in the heavy cannons to break the line and make incremental advances. It will be bloody, slow, and time consuming, but the General staff nor myself see it going any other way."

"What about Gallia?" Clemens inquired. "Surely, they have fortifications we need to be weary of, and they only need to defend along the border instead of having to deal with the dangers of a naval invasion due to the Federation most likely blockading our ports and thus our fleets from conducting such an operation."

Berthold was surprised that his brother, without proper military training, was able to see the strategic picture and determine which actions could and couldn't be taken. He wondered how he would fare in the fighting in Gallia, but Berthold was more concerned with the fighting in Fhirald; Fhirald was as staunchly neutral as Gallia and had seen plenty of combat before this war.

"They have a couple fortresses which may prove a problem, the largest being Ghirlandio, which serves as a hub for commerce and immigration. Besides that, the only barriers would be the Kloden forest, due to the nightmare of fighting in such close quarters and foliage, and the Barious Desert, which attrition could account for more losses than actual combat. So indeed, the Gallian forces will likely center to their northern borders with the Empire, but even so, 40000 men versus the empire 120000 men of the Imperial army with artillery, Gallia should fall before Winter."

Berthold saw his father smile to calm Clemens's nerve, but he saw something else in his father's eyes. Something he couldn't quite place his finger on, as though father had some plan going on that he wasn't speaking about. But there were more pressing concerns that Berthold's gut feelings.

"In effect, the Empire's focus will be on the Federation of Fhirald, so Cpt. Gregor, try and maintain your men and your supplies, as the aforementioned fronts will have priority over the Gallian front. Col. Gregor, strike the Fhiraldian armies with an iron fist and shatter their will as quickly as possible. General Krieg is a capable commander, so follow his orders and survive the war. With the order of battle out of the way, Cpt. Gregor, I have reviewed the designs for the… 'tank' as you called it, and I am most certainly impressed by them."

"Thank you General," Clemens thanked his father. "I hope such a weapon will lead the Empire to future victories."

"As do I," Ulysses agreed, rubbing his chin. "Which is why I will bring the design forward to the Emperor himself when I meet with him a week before the war starts. Hopefully, the design is approved, and you can begin ordering your factories to mass produce these vehicles for the war. Now, if there is nothing else to discuss, I would like to get some rest before I have to report back to base to do an inspection of the forces."

With neither of his sons saying anything, Ulysses took the silence as his cue to head to his bedroom in the estate, leaving the brothers alone in the room, looking at the map.

"I don't like the sounds of this," Clemens said after a pregnant silence, looking at the map. "The Empire's entire military is currently six million men strong, yet we are only sending in a tenth of our entire military force against the combined, if not unified, might of Gallia, Fhirald, and the Atlantic Federation? Aren't we asking to be overrun?"

"No brother, we aren't," Berthold said. "The Empire however must protect is far eastern provinces from threats in Asia. Also, the Federation will not be able to commit their entire military force to defending Europa if they intend to hold onto their colonies. So in reality, six hundred thousand men should suffice for the war. But if the war drags on, the Empire can mobilize nearly triple its current numbers for the war, raising the army to strength to eighteen million men."

Berthold saw his brother frown at the numbers, but he knew that the even if the Federation had a 1-1 ratio of men to the Empire, the Empire had more combat experience, better training, and greater discipline, so that was where the Empire would form the basis of its strategies. However, Clemens was an industrialist first, and a military man second.

Berthold knew that his brother was cautious, as it was that cautiousness that helped him in the industrial sector. When they had discussed and ran mock operations, Berthold saw his brother take the slower, safer routes to the objectives. Clemens defended his tactics by saying it was conserving the strength of his men, while Berthold saw it as a bit cowardly. His strategy was to strike hard and push, leaving no time for the enemy to get over the shock of the initial strike.

"If you say so brother," Clemens wearily conceded. "I am going to get some rest, and I would advise you to do the same." Berthold saw his brother then leaving the room, which left him alone to contemplate the map quietly.

He looked at the map, and located the Kingdom of Fhirald, and noted its close proximity to one of the Empire's naval bases. He knew that Krieg discussed the possibility of a naval invasion, using the heavy guns of the dreadnoughts to shell any defenses that the Fhiraldian army could have set up, but most thought the operation would be doomed due to the rough seas throwing off the aims of the guns and the lack of any decent landing ships for troops to disembark from. Berthold smirked, sensing that if a naval operation was to go, he could prove his worth there, by striking the enemy with such force that he could win the battle. There, he could assume the rank of General, if it succeeded, if he succeeded.

Rolling the map and quietly putting it back in his father's briefcase, Berthold began planning. This war was going to depend on the will of the generals and the strength of the army, therefore his resolve would need to be solid, his plans unbeatable, and his regard for the enemy nonexistent. He walked to his quarters, quietly looking forward to the war.

* * *

><p><strong>Weapon Index: The Mark I tank<strong>

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><p>The Mark I tank was the first mass produce tank in the world, being the brain child of Clemens Gregor and his engineers at the Tula Armaments. Designed to cross the no-man's land that was predicted and occurred during EW1, the Mark I tank was a fairly basic design. It was basically an elongated box with a pike nose, with the 45mm cannon poking out the middle, and two machine gun turrets on top of the hull.<p>

While not by any means sophisticated in terms of tank design, it was the first and provided the Imperial Army with much need data that they used for later designs. The first was that in future designs the main weapon needed to be in the turret. Time and time again during EW1, the Mark 1 tank (called the cigar box by troops due to its shape and other 'unsavory' characteristics) often exposed their side armor to enemy field gun because they couldn't turn the tank fast enough to target the guns.

The next issue was the placement of the ragnite engine. The Mark 1 had the engine inside the vehicle, with a simple radiator vent to allow cooling. However, for maintenance purposes this complicated matters in the field, as the engineer would need to lift the vents and event hen they would only have the top of the engine to work with, when often times they need to get to the bottom. But the biggest drawback of the engine placement was that since the engine was inside the vehicle, if a shell penetrated the tank and hit the engine, it would completely wipe out the tank in a massive blue flame, killing everyone inside.

That said, the troops that drove the Mark 1 love it. It offered them protection against the fragments of artillery and machine gun fire that was the scorn of infantrymen everywhere, it gave them the means to cross no-man's land and deliver the fight to the enemy, and from the front they proved a match to some of the designs rushed out by the Empire's enemy, with only one notable exception being made in Gallia.

Introduced in the middle of EW1, it saw service in all fronts, with its contributions giving the Empire the push it needed in the Fhiraldian and Federation fronts. Only in Gallia, where the vehicle's lack of a main armament turret and the natural obstacles of Gallia, was the Mark 1 made a failure by no fault of those commanding it. By the end of the end of the war, roughly four thousand examples of the Mark 1 were built. In the early 1920s, the Mark I tank was serviced out of commission, with most being scrapped for the later Imperial tank designs, the most notable being the Bekta-series of light tanks.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes: How did you guys like that Weapon Index? I got the idea from various Mass Effect fan-fics that dealt with AUs of humanity and the First Contact War. I liked the idea so for weapons, people, and anything else that make a profound appearance in the story, I will include a single index entry at the end of the chapter. Allows me to go more in-depth with some of the prevailing technologies this story will undoubtedly cover.<strong>

**Anyway, not much to mention, other than maybe the Mark 1 tank. If you are wondering why it isn't like the light tank the Empire uses in VC1, it is because according to my analysis of the lore, the time between EW1 and EW2 is roughly 17 years, just 3-4 years shy the time distance between the actual First and Second World Wars. As a result, I figure I need to design a simple tank that matched the WW1 feel of EW1.**

**With this to heart, I designed a vehicle similar to the French Char Saint-Chamond, the notable difference being the pike nose, stronger engine, smaller main gun, and longer tracks that actually allow the tank to cross rough ground. So why didn't I just use the Imperial light tank? Well, it is roughly based on the Soviet BT-7 and is much faster and better armed than most tanks would be in WW1, so I figure I tone down the first Imperial tank.**

**Anyway guys, please follow, favorite, and review the story, it makes my day!**


	3. Chapter 2: The Start of the Great War

**Chapter 2: The Start of the Great War**

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><p>~<em>December 7th, 1913, Volga, Autocratic East Europan Imperial Alliance<em>~

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><p>Clemens Gregor was sitting in his office, sipping on a coffee. While officially a captain in the Imperial army and being assigned to the 2nd Company of the VII army corp to take part in the invasion of Gallia, he had been given leave for a week to spend with his family in their family estate. As such, he had spent plenty of time with his wife Evelyn and his son Adolf. He smiled, thinking that it was moments like this that would see him through the war.<p>

He remembered talking to Sgt. Carius, his executive officer, about the possibility of making the 2nd platoon the first unit in the Empire to have the new tanks. Carius approved of the design, seeing the tank as a mean to keep the infantry safe from fire and supporting their efforts. He been studying engineering in his down time, and gave Clemens a like-minded person to discuss the future of weapon designs.

Both agreed that the way forward was in mobile warfare, something that had drastically declined due to the prevailing trench warfare many nations had taken to protect their borders. If the empire was to expand, it would need to strike hard, fast, and far, preventing the enemy from creating a web of defenses that would bog down any attackers. As such, both thought the Mark 1 tank was the way forward, as it provided firepower and mobility to keep the army moving, being able to move over grounds the Imperial army's armored cars would get bogged down in.

Clemens turned his thoughts to Adolf. He and his son had gone to the family's weapons range to train young Adolf how to shoot accurately. He taught his son using a Tula Dragoon, a semi-automatic pistol with an elongated barrel, fore grip, and a stock for improved accuracy. It carried 7.63x25mm cartridges in a fifteen round magazine. It was the pinnacle of pistol design in the empire, and perhaps even the world, but due to its cost of manufacture was rare in comparison to the ZM 1900.

His son had quickly learned to shoot accurately, if a bit slowly. He managed to keep all of his shots on the plate size target at a range of twenty five meters after an hour of tutoring from his father, something remarkable for a five year old. Clemens had enjoyed that day, as it was just him and his son shooting at targets, with no talk about his time in the army.

Clemens was about to get up and head out of his office when his phone rang, interrupting his plan.

"What now?" growled Clemens. He didn't want to deal with something on Tula factories, nor did he want to be told to recall back to the base near the Gallian border. He still had four days of his week to spend with his family. He picked the phone up.

"This is Clemens Gregor, who is-" He was interrupted by a stern voice.

"Clemens, this is your father," his father began. "Turn on the radio, something terrible has happened." Clemens could hear the stress in his father's voice, and knew that something had happened. He rarely saw his father stressed out, and never sensed it in his past phone conversations, so whatever it was, it must've been important.

Clemens turned the radio on, and began hearing the broadcast. As the broadcast began, Clemens paled; this wasn't going to be good at all.

"_This is reporter Goebbels of the Imperial News Network, coming to you from the Imperial city of Kalan, along the Imperial/Federation Border. An hour ago, Prince Alexander, first in line for the Imperial Throne, was assassinated during his inspection of the vital border city._

_Prince Alexander, the first son of Emperor Michael Gaius, was inspecting the Fort Salzburg military base just outside of Kalan. The inspection was opened to the public, which sadly was probably how the assassin was able to get into the usually secured military base moments before the attack. As Prince Alexander was on an open podium, thanking General Romanov for his service to the empire, the assassin made his move. _

_The assassin, who we have confirmed to be a Darcsen native to the Atlantic Federation, pushed his way to the front of the crowd and pulled out a pistol. Before any of the soldiers could capture him or cover the Prince, the Darcsen fired five shots, all hitting the prince and one tore through his heart. The Prince died within a few moments from blood loss."_

There was a momentary lull of silence, before the reporter continued.

"_I have just received word from officer that the assassin was indeed sent by the Atlantic Federation. Apparently he had been bribed by a Federation general to kill the Prince. This is a grim day for the Empire, for if the Federation is sending assassins to kill the young Princes and Princesses of the Empire, then who is safe from this foreign threat? This is reporter Goebbels in Kalan, back to you Tracy."_

"My god," Clemens breathed. "Is it true?" His father sighed wearily.

"Yes, I was actually driving there to meet with the young prince myself," his father stated. "As a result, I watched the interrogation of the assassin. He states that General Sherman of the Federation Southern Army Group hired him to assassinate the young prince." Ulysses took a deep breath before continuing.

"I only know this because I was there, but Sherman was a member of the Imperial Chief of Staff before Prince Alexander sacked him due to the arrogant ass hole trying to force himself on the Prince's betrothed wife. He was lucky the Prince didn't have him killed, and so he ran off to join the Atlantic Federation. It is partially why the Federation has been making more preparations in the last couple of years to reinforce their borders; Sherman told them about the Emperor's ambitions."

"That isn't good," Clemens stated. "It's like he is intentionally trying to provoke the Empire into launching the war early. Damn it, what is the Empire's response?"

"The Emperor has called for an emergency military session," Ulysses informed his son. "I am on the Trans-Imperial railway from Kalan to the capital, hopefully I will reach the capital before nightfall. The army has been ordered by the Emperor to go on red alert."

Clemens paled; the Imperial army had a five stage war readiness status. Blue, the lowest of the stages, meant the army was in peace time mobilization. Following that was green (the intelligence corp was mobilized and deploy), yellow (the army was mobilizing and the fleets ordered to launch within a day), and then red (the army was to emergency mobilize and the navy to launch in an hour). Red proceeded the dread black alert, which called for the launch of unconditional warfare in an hour, which meant that the empire may use any and all methods to wage war. The last time the Empire entered a black code was in 1756, when the Empire invaded the then sovereign nation of Crimean, where the Emperor had ordered every city to be razed, no quarter be given, and all civilians be enslaved.

"That's not good," Clemens stated, sweating slightly. "I assume Col. Gregor has already begun amassing his men and that I are to report immediately to Gen. Clausewitz?"

"Yes Cpt. Gregor," Ulysses ordered, switching from father to commanding officer easily. "Arrive to your post as soon as possible, but don't be concerned with Gen. Clausewitz giving you hell; you are in Tula and it is impossible for you to get to your post within a couple of hours. Just take the next express rail from Tula to your post and get there. God speed Cpt. Gregor."

The line went dead, and Cpt. Gregor hung the phone up. He could feel his right hand shaking in palpable fear. He didn't understand why he was freaking out; he was prepared to march with the army upon Gallia in eight days' time, so why was he panicking?! He quickly moved to his closest and retrieved his officer's uniform and his Tula Dragoon.

Slipping out of his business attire and changing into his uniform, Cpt. Gregor ran out of his office, grabbing the suitcase he had prepped just in case he needed to move out sooner than anticipated. It had his ID and military papers, some imperial notes to pay for any expenses he was to incur, and finally his directory that would allow him (when he was near a phone) to call his various facilities to run the Tula Armaments.

As he was rushing down the stairs, he saw his wife Evelyn rush to him.

"Clemens, I just heard, is it true? That Prince Alexander is dead?" Evelyn asked. Clemens stiffly nodded.

"I just got my orders to return to my post," Clemens quietly explained. "I must leave at once my love. Please give our son my apologies for having to leave before completing our plans." Evelyn smiled softly.

"Adolf will be more than understanding," Evelyn said calmly. "But I will none the less relay your apologies. Take care, and please, be safe."

"I will," Clemens stated. "I will stay safe and return to both of you." He walked out of the family estate and head for his personal car. He drove off the estate, heading off to the train depot, rushing off to his post like countless officers and enlisted men were doing across the Empire.

* * *

><p><em>December 14<em>_th__, 1913, Imperial Outpost 'Resolute', Autocratic East Europan Imperial Alliance_

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><p>Major General Clausewitz sighed wearily as he entered his command bunker. The bunker was typical of many imperial designs, with a few modifications. For instance, it had a reinforced concrete blockhouse with a three embrasures that allowed the occupants to fire weapons from and be protected largely from incoming fire. In addition, the underground complex ran twenty feet deep, again made from reinforced concrete and could house easily one hundred troops, with multiple reinforced entrances that lead to the open trench network so that the troops can reinforce the trench network or allow the wounded to be brought in to the attending medics.<p>

The bunker had numerous facilities. There was a fully staffed field hospital to aid in caring for the wounded, a mess hall to feed the officers and their various XOs, and a war room that was crucial for the coming battles. The war room had a radio that unless someone managed to infiltrate past the trench network, avoid the hundreds (soon to be thousands) of soldiers, and went to a mile to cut the wire, could receive and relay reports back to military high command in Muscovy.

Above ground were several surrounding blockhouses that were equipped with ZM MG-08 machine guns. These water cooled machine guns were mounted on a tripod and could fire continuously for hours if given ample ammo and water. In addition, the blockhouses had a sighting scope and radio to relay fire coordinates to each of the blockhouse's own mortar team, which could drop a 75mm mortar round onto a target up to a kilometer out.

Maj. Gen. Clausewitz finally got into the war room, where he had the officers of his companies, battalions, and brigades gathered. Unlike Gen. Hindenburg, who preferred to dish out orders at his pace and have his moves planned out, Clausewitz rather give his orders to his officers beforehand and let their actions determine his next move. His reasoning was that while he was safe in this bunker, he was far removed from the action. Therefore, the captains leading the companies from the front relay their successes, enemy actions, or delays to the Lt. Col., who in turn relay their battalion's movement to the brigadier generals that were commanding the various brigades and (or rare occasions) divisions, which then reaches him to make an inform decision regarding the entire Corp and the action of the corp.

"At ease," Gen. Clausewitz ordered. "As all of you know, Prince Alexander was killed by a Federation assassin on the 7th during an inspection of Fort Salzburg., which has escalated our operations to prepare for an imminent invasion of the Federation, Gallia, and Fhirald. The politicians tried to steer us away from war, but they have failed, and as a result, in an hour, we begin our offensive."

Clausewitz saw a couple of the brigadier generals, Lt. Col. and of course Captain Gregor had involuntary body twitches. This was because they all knew that his little speech was a blanket lie; a lie that would be told to cover up the truth about the empire's intentions. The assassination, while unfortunate, wasn't the catalyst for the war, but it was a rally cry for the nation and it gave the empire another casus belli to invade her western neighbors.

"Our operation is to launch a strategic blow against the Principality of Gallia, drive from the north and descend upon Randgriz, and secure a new province for the Empire before winter. I know the task will be difficult, however it can be done. The main obstacle will be breaching the lines in the mountainous north. Here, the defenses are centered around the massive Ghirlandaio fortress, where the Gallian army and militia will be amassed. Casualties on our side will be stiff, namely because the assault will be funneled in a narrow ravine."

"As a result I am ordering the 8th battalion of the VII Army Corps to lead a second assault, striking from Imperial lands into the city of Bruhl, where they will attempt to break through the city and open up a new front in Gallia. If they succeed, the 1st and 2nd Division of the VII Army Corp will make the most of that breakthrough, with the intent on trapping the Gallian army at Ghirlandaio. If they don't, then we will begin the siege of the fortress, although we know the dangers that entails."

A few of the officers paled, mostly the captains that were fresh into war, though a couple of Colonels that had seen fighting in Kabul knew the dangers of attacking Ghirlandaio. The fortress was designed to withstand withering artillery barrages, be self-sufficient, and could hold an impressive garrison inside. Add in the narrow ravine that would funnel their forces, almost certainly a few bunkers and pre-aimed artillery, and even a semi-incompetent commander would be hard pressed to lose the fortress.

The dangers of attacking the fortress were why Clausewitz wanted a make a second front at Bruhl. Not only would the bulk of the Gallian armed forces be away from Bruhl and allow the Empire to advance quickly, but also if the Empire could swing northward and cut off the salient the Gallains would be in, they could stop the flow of reinforcements heading towards Ghirlandaio. Thus they could make feinting attacks against the fortress, drain the enemy of their precious artillery shells, ammo, and lives, before making a final push against the defenders.

"At the moment, I want all forces to be on operational stand-by, waiting for the formal declaration of war before we make our advance," Clausewitx said, wrapping the briefing. "All forces except the 1st and 2nd Division are to head straight towards the fortress, stopping just outside the fortress's guns' range. If a breakthrough at Bruhl occurs, the 1st and 2nd Division will swing behind the fortress, and cut off their supplies. Are there any questions about the operation?"

The various officers shook their heads in response, allowing Clausewitz to formally wrap the briefing.

"Very well then, you're all dismissed, except for Captain Gregor, I need a minute of your time," Clausewitz ordered. A few officers looked at the Captain and Lord Gregor with varying degrees of apprehensions, but none was foolish enough to scoff at him. Pissing off a noble, especially one whose family has been loyally serving the Empire for the past four centuries, was affront to the aristocratic society that ran the Empire that wouldn't go unpunished. Not helping the issue was that the Captain was the son of famous 'General of Famine' and brother to the up and rising Colonel Berthold Gregor.

Captain Clemens Gregor remained at attention while his fellow officers exited to return to their post. He saw Clausewitz gauging him, and he had a couple ideas of what this conversation was about. It could be how he became a captain so quickly, or it could be his posting as the Lord of Tula, or perhaps it had to do with his company's industrial capacity. But whatever it was, Cpt. Gregor knew it was fairly important as he was informed that Gen. Clausewitz didn't waste any time, as Berthold put it, 'pussyfooting or beating around the bush'.

"Cpt. Gregor, do you know I had you remain behind?" Clausewitz asked. Gregor shook his head.

"Not definitively sir," Cpt. Gregor replied smoothly. Clausewitz nodded.

"I am a part of the military design bureau, looking into the latest in military technology and advancement, so I have seen the designs to your, what was it… ah yes, 'Mark I tank'," Gen. Clausewitz began to explain. "I see promise in the design; however I am concerned that this is an attempt by Tula to get funding for a dead end project due to Tula's limited capacity to compete with the likes of Zeichmeister and Krimm. So I want to know, will this tank be worth it, or will it be a huge waste of the Empire's resources?"

"It won't be a waste sir," Cpt. Gregor replied earnestly. "I truly believe that the design has potential, and I will admit it may have some faults, but until the design has seen combat, we can't know for certain what to improve or to be rid of. Armored cars are fine, but for roles like scouting, raiding, and light infantry support. Going up against a fortified enemy trench line will require serious armor and firepower, something this tank has."

He paused, collecting his thoughts. He debated whether to explain the cause of him designing the Mark I, or if he should keep to the sale's pitch. But he saw that Clausewitz was still weighing his words, and decided that the only way he would convince the General was to be frank and honest. His reasoning was simple; he figured the general had seen too many men die under his command due to industrialist such as himself boasting about the capabilities of their weapons only for said weapons to fail in the field.

"I will admit sir that this design is partially in response to me becoming an officer," Cpt. Gregor continued. "I have a wife and son back home, and the prospect of crossing into no man's land with nothing but a rifle in hand and the men by my side terrifies me. I had hoped that should this design see the battlefield that the infantry would follow behind these tanks, protected from incoming fire and being supported by the tank. I don't want to die sir, and I believe the Mark I will allow myself and countless others to make it through the war alive."

Clausewitz looked at Cpt. Gregor for a moment, before he began to chuckle.

"You Cpt. Gregor I see are not like your brother or your father," he said calmly. "I like your frankness, too often I deal with arrogant officers with a stick up their ass spouting bullshit about their superiority. I understand what you mean with these tanks however; they would, ideally, provide the army with a new way to cross that blasted no man's land. But tell me, you do see much growth for this type of vehicle?"

Cpt. Gregor paused. He hadn't given it much thought if he was honest, but thinking to his design, he could see that in the future, there could be better designs, one that may be more mobile, bettered armored, and with larger cannons. He also figured that if the chassis was a success, it could lead to other designs with new purposes that were unexplored, such as a mobile hospital, maybe even a self-propelled gun.

"I can see the potential for newer and better designs sir," Cpt. Gregor stated. "This is merely the first design that there is, and by no means will it compare to future designs, but it is the first step in a new field sir."

Clausewitz nodded once more.

"Very well," Gen. Clausewitz said after a moment of silence. "I will see about approving the design to the others on the bureau; it might take a while though. You're excused, captain."

As Cpt. Gregor left, Clausewitz sighed. The captain was neither like his father nor his brother; he didn't have the same bravery nor the bigotry of those two. Clausewitz remembered hearing about the rather barbaric methods that Major General Ulysses Gregor had for dealing with the Darcsen population in Kabul; burning down their food crops and raiding their provision stores led to the deaths of thousands over the course of the campaign. And Colonel Berthold Gregor didn't shy away from using Darcsens as force labor forces to dig trenches, work in the mines, or other dirty and dangerous jobs.

He was silently glad that Captain Clemens Gregor seemed to be a milder manner man, focused with getting him and his men out of the war alive. Clausewitz hoped that the Captain would be of promise, both on the field and off. He knew a little about the Captain as a lord, and he knew he could throw his weight around and become an important leader in the Empire.

But for now, he was left waiting, in his bunker, for the declaration of war.

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><p><em>December 14<em>_th__, 1913, Muscovy Kremlin, Autocratic East Europan Imperial Alliance_

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><p>Standing in a room looking out a window was a proud and truly regal man. Towering over most men, he had a face that one would claim a master sculptor had made from the finest marble, his eyes a piercing blue, and with simple but impressive mustache that made his features stand out even more, complete with his black hair. He wore proudly his uniform, which unlike the officers was mostly white with a red lining and gold trimmings, a cape proudly flowing. However, this man wasn't feeling proud. No, he felt like his body was silently shaking with his anger, an anger that had stemmed from the loss of his son; Prince Alexander Gaius.<p>

Emperor Mikhail Gaius clenched his fist in anger, remembering how he had heard of his son's assassination. He and his 5th wife, Guinevere, had been in the kremlin's gardens, enjoying the first snowfall of the year with his youngest heirs, four year old Gytha and Archer Gaius, respectively 17th and 16th in line for the throne, when a messenger came with the news. While Mikhail might've been a womanizer and had many wives and consorts, he cared for his children deeply, and thus had been enraged with the news.

The next couple of hours were tense, as the Emperor demanded more updates and insisted his generals to declare war. Thankfully, as he thought about it, the cooler heads of his chief of staffs and the various generals that had been involved with the planned invasion had convinced him to delay, if only for a week. That however didn't stop him from snapping at the poor bastard he had sent to talk with the Federation's ambassador to know why his firstborn son was killed by orders of one of their generals.

He focused his gaze towards the red walls of the Kremlin. He knew that these walls had been constructed by his forefathers in the 14th century to defend the fledging state against the nomadic raiders that pillaged the steppes and the frozen tundra, and these walls have withstood the march of time. It was a symbol of the empire's power, and Mikhail wouldn't be the emperor to see the Kremlin fall.

As a result, when he ascended to the throne all those years ago, he began industrializing the empire and expanding its borders, primarily eastwards. The empire soon became the leader in steel production, boasted the largest army, and had some of the greatest scientific minds in the world. But his expansions, like the expansions of his forefathers, created enemies. The enemy became the Atlantic Federation, a supposed union of republics the aligned to oppose the Empire. In reality, it was a corrupt, back stabbing union that promoted ideals that would make the nobility in the Empire cringe in disgust. There was no loyalty, no honor, and no prestige in the Federation, only a mindless continuous strife to see who would lead the perilous weak union.

It was this Federation and the actions of a right bastard that he should've seen killed that led to his son's death. General George Sherman was never an honorable officer before he tried to rape his son's wife, but he had at least he followed orders. Now though, with him running the border and joining the Federation to act as their Army Group South's CO, Mikhail hoped he could avenge his son's death by finding, torturing, and killing the traitorous piece of shit, along with all the Federation soldiers that dare defend him.

His moment of silence was interrupted by his political advisor Ernst. Ernst was an elderly man, having served at his father's side in battle, than helping him in the field of politics, before doing the same for Mikhail.

"Your majesty, the throne hall has been filled with the people you requested," Ernst stated. "If I may speak your majesty, I think that this may backfire…"

"Ernst, we both know of my plans," Emperor Gaius spoke coldly. "We were already planning the invasion of the Federation, but due to that rat Sherman and the Federation, my son, my heir is dead! Nothing I can do can bring him back, but I can at least see to it that the bastards responsible for his passing will pay. Therefore I will not stray from this path like one of those Federation cowards!"

Ernst sighed. While he supported Emperor Gaius's actions fully, he was concerned for Mikhail Gaius as both a man and a father. Mikhail tried to do the best for his many children, even the one that most of the family looked down upon due to the child being born to one of the Emperor's consorts and not a legal wife. But Ernst could see the man that he respected slowly become a cold hearted monster that only cared for the results if he kept this bitterness. This could have unforeseen consequences Ernst knew, but he knew that right now, Mikhail wouldn't listen to reason, not now at least.

"Very well your majesty," Ernst conceded. "Is there anything else I can do for you your majesty?" Emperor Gaius shook his head.

"No Ernst there isn't," Emperor Gaius replied. "If there is nothing else, I have a speech to give and a war to declare." He strolled out of the office, leaving Ernst to his own devices. As he walked, Mikhail noticed that the Royal Guard was in position all through the Kremlin, making sure there wasn't any attempt made during the speech. Not that it was likely, considering that mere minutes after his son's death the entire complex was put into lock down, with the entire Royal Guard on duty, all entrances fortified, and all people checked before they were allowed in.

As he entered the throne room, he saw many Lords, his various wives (six in total), his numerous children of varying ages, and finally the Imperial Press Corp. Unlike Federation politicians who feared the press, Emperor Gaius embraced it fully. Nothing was more powerful a tool for inspiring the nation as the dedicated and absolutely loyal Imperial Press Corp. They worked also as the nation's propaganda machine, and in many cases covered up the actions the Empire made in their lands from spilling to foregin nations.

He came in front of the entire gathering, and everyone stopped their idle chatter, knowing that, as he cleared his throat, Emperor Mikhail Gaius was about to break the flood gates with his speech. Gaius waited until the IPC's personnel cleared him to give his speech, as they had to finish setting up the equipment to broadcast the speech across the nation.

"My citizens, loyal subjects to the Imperial Banner, it has been one week since the tragic passing of my firstborn son, Prince Alexander Gaius von Muscovy, at the hands of a Federation assassin. He died while honoring the efforts of the Imperial Army at Fort Salzburg. His death was tragic, but it would be an insult to his memory to allow those who ordered his death to get away with this."

"He was killed on orders from a Federation General, a general who once served this great nation before swindling it away with his lust. My son had given the shallow example of a man a second chance at life, and let him go, only to end up dead by that man's commands a mere two years later. This man was General George Sherman."

"I have sent forth to the Atlantic Federation demands to have this coward to be brought forth before the Imperial Courts for the murder of Prince Alexander, but they refuse. I warned them of the consequences, that this would mean war between us and them, but still they refuse to budge. They refuse to see justice down for the murder of my son, your prince!"

"Further still, the Federation has sunk its teeth into the neutral nations of Gallia and Fhirald and turned them against the Empire. These weak nations dared to side with the Federation in this matter and as such are enemies to the Empire."

"Our entire western border has become hostile, with the Atlantic Federation and its puppets threatening the safety of the Empire. They have already killed Prince Alexander; if left to their own devices, the Federation will surely attempt larger and larger attempts to tear apart our empire. An empire that has stood for centuries before the Federation was even an idea, one that has stood for the defense of Europa's interest and its citizens for ages!"

"Thus, it is with a vengeful heart that I declare war upon the scum of the Atlantic Federation, the Principality of Gallia, and the Kingdom of Fhirald, for their crimes and mutual threat against the Empire! We will march proudly as one, against the enemies of the Empire! The Empire shall not rest until her enemies lay on the ground, their blood drenching the graves of our forefathers, the survivors huddling in terror at the sight of Imperial banners and soldiers, and their lands engulfed in flames! Never again shall our enemies defile the pride of this Empire, never again shall they claim the lives of your noble prince and princess, never again shall they raise their arms against the will of the Empire!"

The throne room erupted into a loud applause, as those in audience made it clear their intentions. Emperor Gaius saw the flames ignited in the eyes of various Lords, many of whom held considerable sway in the empire. These lords had the armories to arm the Imperial Army, the money to keep the Empire afloat, and many sons who were in the army as officers, risking their lives for the betterment of the Empire. He knew that there was no question of loyalty in regards to the lords in the room; they were loyal to him and the Empire, and would do as he commands.

His gaze swept to his family, and there it lingered, his mind processing the looks that many held. The younger ones knew something serious was going on, but not much else. It was those in their teens and early adulthood however that worried him slightly. He knew that there was a race for his throne; he was no fool as he had to do the same at his age. But unlike his race, where he was the first heir and only a couple true contenders, this race had many ambitious and ruthless contenders.

He knew, from the reports he had (from the Imperial Intelligence Corps), that many of his children were willingly to off one another to secure their position in the upper echelons of the aristocracy. It may not be the throne for most, but becoming the prince/ss of major autocratic states (not the provinces but the kingdoms before they united under the Imperial banner) were still a deadly race. He even heard whispers of plans to kill one of his sons, seven year old Prince Maximillian Gaius von Reginrave, due to him being seen as 'a stain to the Imperial family'.

Emperor Gaius sat down on his throne, watching the scene before him, taking in this moment, as it was the start of a great war. He braced himself, knowing that the warm, while it just begun, would become truly a test of the Empire's will. He was only glad he wasn't in the trenches, preparing to begin the assault to possibly the greatest war the world has ever seen.

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><p><strong>Personnel Index: Sgt. Michael Carius (Part 1) <strong>

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><p>The son of an Imperial Captain and bar maid, Sgt. Michael Carius became known for his zealotry. A firm believer in the Emperor and the Empire, Carius enlisted after graduating high school, and quickly climbed the ranks to the rank of Sergeant due to his ability to lead his comrades in exercises and being known for following orders regardless of his morals. In his off time before the war, Carius studied engineering under the members of the military's R&amp;D and became interested in developing high-powered low-heat engines.<p>

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><p><strong>Author's Note: And the war begins! Yeah, no fighting, but that is the next chapter. I will have two main focuses during the First Europan War; the fighting in Gallia with Cpt. Clemmens Gregor, and the homefront with Adolf Gregor. There will be other perspectives throughout the war, don't worry, but these are the primary two. The other perspectives will be to major events in the war, like a major battle in the Federation, in Fhirald, or a political aspect outside the battlefield.<strong>

**Also, as you no doubt notice, this and the first two chapters were released on Christmas Day. This is just one part of my gift to the community on this site, with me publishing a chapter for two other of my stories and announcing the rewrite of two of my stories. For more information, please head to my profile page and read the Christmas update (it may not be up until later in the day FYI).**

**Back to the story, I had a different start to the war until I was reading the in-game glossary and learned it started with the assassination of a royal prince. Woops. Well, I decided to take a take and make it where the assassination was an ersatz casus beili, where it was convenient (tragic yes, but still convenient) but gave the Empire more reason to declare war. Hence the speech. Granted, not the best speech, but I never written speeches and I'm not Adolf Hitler, who loved 30+ minute speeches. So yeah… :/ **

**Anyway, merry Christmas, happy holidays, and as always, please follow, favorite, and review!**


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